everyone has a starting point
by shen salazar
Summary: pariston hill in the making. — modern!au, very random.


**_everyone has a starting point_**

* * *

Pariston was never late for meals, always folded his blanket and fixed his bed in the mornings. He makes sure to finish his chores, tidy up his room, and speak when it was necessary, or if he was asked to.

All in all, Pariston was a good kid. Well, as much as that term can be stretched and defined, he's good. Perhaps too much.

You can't label children at the orphanage 'good' these days. Good is very subjective. You can be good because you obey the matrons. You can be good because you follow the orphanage rules. You can be good because you never question anything.

And Pariston, in his early years at the orphanage, did exactly that. Follow everything. To him, it was easy. Their instructions were very simple, of course. Very prosaic. Easy to comprehend, easy to complete.

Why, you ask?

Why does he.. _follow_? Say 'yes'? Do good?

What else would he want but to be adopted? And why does he want to be adopted, you ask again?

Perhaps the matrons can answer that question for you.

Ah, you see, Pariston and the matrons speak frequently. (Mostly because the other children weren't much fun for the blond boy. The matrons weren't any better, either, but at least they didn't play and drool over material toys. Entertaining yourself with people was _much_ more fun.)

Something came up in one of their conversations. The talk of adoption is common, but one piqued Pariston's interest, to put it simply.

"You read often, don't you, Pariston-kun?"

Pariston hums in reply, eyes shining under the dim light.

"Our library here is limited, like any other orphanage. Once you get out of here, you can read more books — and ah! Maybe even start education. Go to school. It'll fit you, I see it.." And on the matron rambled. About the opportunities schooling could give you. About how many children aspire to learn in such an environment. About how many adults wish they could go back to school again.

Pariston, like any other child deprived of such luxury, wished for it as well. To want it isn't anything mind boggling for a child. It's simple.

"That sounds wonderful, Anna-san! Education!! It secures our future, I see. Why don't we have it here, I wonder, Anna-san?" Pariston exclaims and questions. He's six. Seven in four months. And he must act like it.

"Our orphanage funds are too low. Wandering teachers often go to the places that can give them proper payment, and the kinder ones — those who doesn't care much for money? They've never even stumbled upon this place." The matron, Anna, sighed. "It's a shame. You'd have to get adopted to actually experience it."

Hm.

Is this the way they were veering again? Adoption? Pariston nods in response to the matron, and mulls it over. Perhaps he could extend this conversation today.

"Am I up for adoption, Anna-san?" Pariston somberly asks. The tone is right. He's got his lips turned down just slightly, and he trained his eyes to dim. Pariston wonders if he looks distressed enough yet.

The matron's eyes soften. "I'll put you up on the list, Pariston-kun. We've never even considered, and you've been so good, so curious, ah, maybe we didn't want to let you go before. Of course, of course. You'll be up for it tomorrow."

"Thank you, Anna-san! You are kind as ever!"

And Pariston smiles, bright and wide, for good measure.

"That's good, Pariston-kun. Smile a lot. Do it often. Couples tend to pick up the children who smile more. They like happy children."

And _oh_? Is that so?

Pariston notes it in his mind.

Smile a lot, then? That wasn't so hard.

(It's a very simple instruction. And Pariston's always followed those, hasn't he?)

* * *

Four months.

It took Pariston four months to be adopted.

(It took him four whole months to smile, and smile, and _smile_. As it turns out, smiling wasn't really hard. It did make people more amiable. He should really do it often, he supposes.)

The first thing they talked about was education. Pariston didn't even need to steer the conversation that way, for his adoptive parents immediately put the idea to study in front of him. And Pariston, is a child of wants. To be presented with the thing you've been wanting? It was enthralling.

He enthusiastically agreed to it, of course.

The Hills were the typical parents to visit an orphanage. They wanted a child, but one of them was impotent. So — adoption. It was a simple setting.

Pariston started elementary right after, skipping pre-school. His new parents deemed that he was knowledgeable enough about the basics, so why not send him off for elementary?

Pariston was thankful for that insight his new parents had, the faster he got through this 'education' and 'schooling' thing, the better.

If he wanted to really have fun in this lifetime, then he must achieve something first.

And the way to that was finishing school.

Elementary was... well. It was elementary. Basic. Uncomplicated. There are things he managed to learn in it, of course.

His peers did not like him, no matter how much he smiled. Ah, children. This was why he didn't like them. They see too much, even if they're unaware. Adults were much easier to spin to his favor.

His unscrupulous classmate, Ging, was one that got into his nerves, though he doesn't show it much. He doesn't know what he did in particular to make Ging bristle whenever he as much talks, and he does _not_ like what he does not have answers for.

"Oh? Is that you walking right outside the door, Ging? You must be finished with cleaning! How _very_ industrious!! The school bell just rang and you've already finished your cleaning duties. It's admirable!"

And Ging, of course, was trying to escape cleaning. And Pariston was, as you can see, not letting him do that.

One of their classmates held Ging back, "You're getting back here Ging, or I'm going to pummel you with a broom!"

"Yes, pummel him with a broom!" Said the other kids.

Ah yes. Pummel him indeed.

Ging gives him a death glare. (It wasn't very threatening. He's nine. He could do a lot better.)

Pariston smiles at the glaring boy in return.

It doesn't do much.

* * *

Pariston shuffles in his seat at the middle of the classroom. The teacher is working hard at the front of the class, but Pariston can't help but to sigh at his efforts.

The lecture is dull, but Pariston listens. His eyes are veered forward, fingers tapping rhythmically on his table. The tapping sound gets swallowed by the noise of the class. Clearly, the teacher can't hold them back that much.

Pariston puts his chin on his palm. His other hand is still tapping away on the table.

He wonders if this is it.

Is this the opportunity he's been told about? The road to achieving things?

He shifts his eyes and observed the classroom he's in.

Ging is asleep. Cheadle is taking down notes like their teacher was even saying anything worth putting on a notebook. Mizaistom looked like he was having a hard time choosing between shouting at the class or yelling at it. (Alas, which one would be better.)

Pariston smiles.

Mizaistom notices it, and he pauses. His hand is on his pen, now, and Pariston wonders if he's thinking of chucking it at his face so that he could stop smiling.

Pariston just smiles wider.

The lecture is dull. The environment, however, poses a significant value for entertainment.

Maybe the lessons would improve the farther he goes?

Ah, well. He'll give this school more time.

* * *

Elementary came fast and went by even faster.

Now, Pariston finds himself in middle school, which, if you ask him, was awfully short as well.

Perhaps he only blinked and smiled a few times, and then middle school was over. It didn't help that he had simpletons for classmates, and they were far too easy to fool.

The lectures improved, _but_ of course they would. Pariston still finished his tests just as quick, though.

So. As said, middle school was awfully short. Albeit it was fine, for high school proved to be entertaining.

If it didn't, well. That would just be disappointing.

* * *

Good news.

High school was not, in fact, that disappointing.

Pariston's path has crossed with the ever-unscruplous Ging again, and perhaps that already made his high school life marginally better than his previous middle school years.

The teachers are stricter, and they give Pariston more to work on. More fun. The lectures turned in another direction, and although it wasn't particularly hard, it wasn't at the level where Pariston would wonder what he was doing, sitting in a chair, learning how to spell apple properly, or what a volcano apparently does.

Is this the knowledge Pariston has been wanting to accumulate? Not even close.

But it's a necessary step to get it.

It turns out, high school has various clubs. Pariston doesn't have much that interest him except people, and all clubs have people. So you can see, Pariston is having a hard time selecting which one to enter. (Not that he'd be accepted.)

Pariston concludes that participating in Drama Club would do him some good. He was a great actor, wasn't he? He's always acting like class was entertaining, so that's a point for him. He's even _always_ acting that Ging doesn't look like he belongs in the garbage bin everyday, so that's another point for him.

So there he was, auditioning with a Shakespeare piece, with a line from Hamlet's Act 2, Scene 2.

And Cheadle, one of the people judging the auditions, was giving him an unimpressed stare from the seats. (Pariston wonders how she gets to be a part of the judging panel — she's the same year as he is, isn't she?)

Ging is also there, at the seats, as well as Mizaistom. They weren't part of the panel, and just the audience. Pariston vows to make his audition memorable for such people.

He clears his throat. "Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move its aides, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love."

He finishes it with a rose. And perhaps he was imagining it, but he feels like he's sparkling. Surely, it was a magnificent performance.

Cheadle stares at him hard. And long. She mutters, "I am doubting my eyes. And my ears. _This_ is doubt." and Pariston's quite sure she intended the words to only be a whisper, but he heard it anyways.

Is she doubting his acting skills? That perhaps one person couldn't be too perfect? Pariston hums self-assuredly. Maybe that's how the other two thought of his piece, as well.

(He wasn't aware that Ging collapsed from where he was sitting on the stands, but that doesn't matter. Mizaistom was nowhere to be found.)

* * *

High school was a month away from ending. And, as per tradition, they were asked one by one to pass a paper containing their life ambition.

Pariston passed his paper, that section left unmarred.

And so, of course — he was asked to fill it up personally.

"Pariston, isn't there anything you want to be in the future? Or are you still undecided?"

His teacher was wrong in his assumptions.

Pariston has something he wants, really. But it's not something he could summarize and write on a paper. It's not something a job could entail.

People. Control. Power.

Three simple things.

And they were all quite big in terms of ambition.

Ah. So maybe that's possible.

"Becoming the President," Pariston finally decides. He smiles at his teacher, wide and with his eyes closed. "I think I want to be the next President of this country, sensei."

Pariston's teacher blinked. And blinked some more, then sighed. Students, these days, with their superfluous dreams.

(And here's what he doesn't know: Pariston does not intend to stop there.)

* * *

After graduating high school, Pariston took up Political Science at Kyoto.

Ging, he learns, leaned towards History, and went to Osaka. Says he wants to be a historian. (Pariston wishes he could just up and bury himself so he becomes history. But alas, that's too much wishful thinking.)

College is tedious, but not the challenge Pariston wants to be offered. But he's moving forward, and is taking one step at a time. He's not rushing, but the environment is dull. His peers are always running about and turning in circles, heavy bags under their eyes — and Pariston sees the difficulty higher education gives them everyday. It's fun to see their struggle.

The days are short, and the months fly by. Pariston watches at the sidelines, unmoving, as the years flash and the seasons change.

The gymnasium is cleared, and chairs are being put up. Tarpaulins hang at the stage. Diplomas are being printed.

Pariston watches, and watches. Still unmoving.

The graduation song plays. His peers clutch at their diploma like it's a lifeline.

Pariston steps off the stage after his speech. He didn't do much to achieve the highest honor offered, but he crinkled his eyes back there at the stage and spun tales of his hard work so he looks more human.

The ceremony finishes with cheers.

Pariston's chuckle gets drowned in the sound. This was the education he was promised before, the one they said would take him to greater heights.

He looks down at his diploma. Will his degree really help him achieve the world, you wonder?

Of course it would. He's never taken a step he's never calculated before.

Pariston, once again, smiles.

This was only the beginning.

[s.] _there's much to see once you take a person away from violence._


End file.
